


Habits

by Sunflower82597



Series: UshiHina Weekly Prompts [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Baker/Cafe owner!Hinata, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Baking, Consensual Sex, Cooking, Detective!Ushijima, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Fluff, Habits, Hobbies, M/M, Romance, Safe Sane and Consensual, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, UshiHina Prompts, my descriptive language borders melodramatic and I am not sorry, puns, workaholics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 04:05:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10403538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunflower82597/pseuds/Sunflower82597
Summary: Ushijima Wakatoshi learns to live his life, irrevocably and beautifully alongside Hinata Shōyōu.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm late. Can I blame college? I'm also going to apologize a head of time, as this is: shorter than usual, if it seems rushed, and if it is riddled with confusing verbiage and grammatical errors. 
> 
> I borrowed a couple of ideas for this fic from one of my favorite movies! I wonder if anyone will know the reference...?
> 
> I also hope you all will take the time to listen to this weeks song! It's absolutely beautiful. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

_“Sunlight on your eyelids, you were sleeping… Sunlight on your back, you were dreaming…”_ _Wood-_ Rostam

\--

“Where is my desk, Sawamura-san?”

The man smiles and continues his work without pause, fingers typing quickly over the keys of his desktop computer. “I don’t see why you would ask me. Go ask Oikawa, I’m sure he’s behind it.”

Ushijima sighs and clenches his jaw together, teeth mashing in mild agitation. He scrubs a hand over his tired eyes—hard enough to see bursts of colors behind the closed lids, and sighs heavily, a large puff of breath escaping his lungs and ribcage in a rush of exasperation. “Right.”

He readjusts his shoulder bag and begins walking down the drably carpeted hallways to his boss’s office door. He raps his knuckles against the wood and doesn’t bother for a response, pushing on the handle and stepping inside.

“Ah, just the man I wanted to see—“ Oikawa begins, though promptly cut off by Ushijima’s insistent, “Where did you put my desk?”

The brunette’s expression sours, the pen in his hand tapping against the documents on his desk. “Well, that’s no way to greet someone, now is it?”

Ushijima scowls, “Good morning. Where is my desk?”

The boss rolls his eyes, “Honestly, Ushijima. What makes you think _I_ moved it?”

The taller man fixes him with a look, “Because you meddle in other people’s business without their permission.”

Oikawa pouts, “I resent that.”

“Really, can we skip this? I would like to start work for the day.”

The man leans back in his desk chair and folds his arms, a calculating look fixed on smooth, tan skin and in chocolate brown eyes. It rubbed Ushijima the wrong way, to have that scrutinizing look fixated upon him; he was good at his job—one of the best, probably—winning most of his legal cases with mounds of evidence than most of the detectives in their branch. He was efficient and clinical, concise and methodical, spending copious amounts of time in the office and out in the field compiling what was needed to close open investigations—to the point of being deemed a workaholic.

His friends and superiors have begun to notice, or so it seems.

“Fine, fine,” the man tuts, kicking his seat back and folding his legs on his desk, “I moved your desk to the corner office downstairs. It’s sunny and has a fantastic view.”

“Why would I care about those things?” he gruffs.

Tooru throws his hands up in the air, exasperated, “Well, you insist on spending every waking moment of your life in the office. Being the great friend that I am, I thought you could use a little sunlight; you know, get some vitamin D, see a few birds, maybe people watch as they walk by—just in case you forgot what the world outside looked like.”

Wakatoshi just blinks, confused, “I go outside for my investigations.”

Oikawa rolls his eyes and makes a shooing motion with his hands, “You’re absolutely hopeless, Ushiwaka.”

He shrugs and double checks to make sure he has everything, turning and walking out the door. Before it’s completely shut, the brunette calls, “Don’t let the world pass you by. Take time to enjoy it, Ushijima.”

The man ignores the message and shuts the door behind him without another word.

\--

Early, dewy sunrise filters in through his office window, waking him from the restless slumber he found atop his desk, the piles of paperwork being transformed into an uncomfortable, makeshift pillow. He sit up and rubs the crick out of his neck, his joints stiff and achy from abuse and exhaustion, barely stifling a yawn as his body pops back into alignment. He checks the digital face of his watch, reading the time as _4:30 a.m._

He had fallen asleep at the office again. He peers down at his clothing and frowns. _And in his riot gear no less._ He blinks the sleep from his eyes and stares around his desk, memories of yesterday and last night coming to his mind once more. _‘Right, right. That suspect we apprehended and his paperwork…’_ he thinks, straightening up. Ushijima huffs a sigh, knowing he’ll probably receive an ear full from Oikawa about his office habits, and how moving him to a new office was supposed to fix his overworking tendencies.

He stares out the window, lost in his thoughts, only pausing when he catches movement inside one of the buildings from across the street. He raises an eyebrow and looks at the time once more. _‘Definitely too early…’_ his tired eyes flicker across the building once more, _’Closed sign, no lights on…A break in?’_

Ushijima stands quickly and makes his way out the door, jogging across the street, pressing up against the side of the building and peering around to the front, hand reaching towards the front of his holster for his gun. His eyes narrow, hand carefully reaching for the doorknob, opening it with no resistance stepping inside. He scans the area and sees a short body, concealed by shadows casted by the illuminated backroom, face turned as they rifle through the contents of the register. He takes careful, measured steps, coming closer to counter, and once he is in range, he clicks the safety down on his gun.

“Step away from the register, and turn around.”

The shorter person squawks, dropping what he had in his hands and spinning around to face the officer. “Wh-what the fuck!”

“Step towards the light, hands up,” Ushijima says, waving him forward. The body obliges, and he soon sees that it’s a young man, short and around his late twenties—absolutely nervous and shaking like a leaf, warily eyeing the gun in Ushijima’s hand.

“Oh my _god_. Am I being _robbed_ right now? What the hell? What did I even do to _deserve_ this?! Who do I call, oh _shit!_ Do I call the cops!? I don’t have my phone!” the man cries in a rush, throwing his hands in the air, panic evident on his features.

Ushijima stalls, “Wait, what? _Robbed?_ Don’t you mean that you got caught robbing this store?”

“ _No!_ This is _my_ coffee shop—this is _my_ bakery! Why would I rob my own place!? I thought you were robbing me!?”

Ushijima shakes his head in confusion, “I’m a federal investigator…” he pauses and flips open his badge, “…I was in the office, across the street and saw suspicious activity in here. I thought someone broke in and was stealing from you.”

“Okay, while I appreciate the vigilance, can you drop your gun from my face, since it’s been established that I’m the owner.”

Ushijima blinks, dropping his weapon, “Oh, right. My apologies.”

The man breathes a sigh of relief, edging around the counter and to the wall by the front door, flicking on the overhead lights. The two blink against the dull onslaught of orange light, eyes squinting as they adjust.

“Why are you up so early?” he asks, hands on his hips. Ushijima takes a moment to look over the shorter man. He’s definitely young to be a business owner, probably in his mid-twenties, and definitely just as tired as he is, dark circles embedded under the ochre colored eyes. He really does look nice— _bright_ —with his auburn, undercut hair, dazzling, pearly teeth, and milky skin; Ushijima thought it fitting that he was a coffee shop owner, as he seems to be early morning personified into a human being.

Ushijima shakes himself from his staring, blaming it on being exhausted, narrowing his eyes, “I could ask you the same thing.”

He rolls his eyes, walking back around the counter. “Look around you. It’s a bakery and coffee shop. I have to start early.”

“Oh,” he looks around the building, feeling slightly foolish for temporarily forgetting where he was, “Right.”

The man snorts, leaning over the counter, “Someone must be tired. Never been here before I take it? I’m surprised, given everyone from your office comes here all the time. I’m Hinata Shōyōu, by the way,” he says with a crooked grin and shake of the head, sticking out his hand in offering.

Ushijima shakes his head, “No, I’ve never been…I’m usually too busy…” he glances at the hand and shakes it after a moment of hesitation, “Ushijima Wakatoshi.”

Hinata furrows his brow as he mouths the name, rolling the words against his tongue, eyes brightening up after a moment, “Oh! I know who you are! It took me a minute. I only know you as _Ushiwaka!_ ”

Ushijima sours at the forsaken nickname, “Oikawa?”

He chuckles, “Yeah, he comes in here to complain about you and eat all my scones.”

“Sounds like him…” he mutters.

Hinata straightens up and rocks on his heels, “So, you never told me why you were up so early?” he eyes the full-bodied gear apprehensively, “See some action last night?” he asks with an eyebrow wiggle.

Ushijima glances down at himself, temporarily forgetting about what he was dressed in; he curses his tired mind for being so careless. “Hm. Yeah, you could say that.”

“Tell me the details over some coffee? Least you could do is humor me for a while as I get the shop set up, after scaring the shit outta’ me an’ all. Let bygones be bygones,” he asks slowly, turning his back and flipping on his coffee machines, pulling out a container of roasted beans for that day’s house brew.

Ushijima hesitates, eyes flickering to his office across the street. He could make out the low light emitted from the small desk lamp he keeps on during nighttime, the piles of papers going undisturbed in the stillness of early morning—he could go and finish the last few scraps of papers needed to finalize this case, then head home for some very needed rest, or he could stay here with this baker—this new acquaintance—and leave the work for when work was due. Something was pulling at him, telling him to stay and have a cup of coffee, to submit to the draw of comforting, warm brews, and delicate smells of fresh baked breads and pastries; to allow himself to shake the tiredness of twilight dew that clung to his heavy eyelids and body and wake up to cheery sunshine that encapsulated itself here within this hole-in-the-wall café.

_‘Oikawa was nagging me about getting out of the office more,’_ he thinks to himself, turning back to the tittering barista, watching the deft hands work. He takes a seat at one of the counter’s barstools, crossing his arms against the flattop.

“I’ll tell you what I can. I think I need a cup after today’s little… _incident,”_ he says.

The man beams, “Tell me _everything._ ”

\--

Oikawa whistles, taking languid strides as he walks into Ushijima’s office, woice saccharine as he coos, _‘Oh, Ushiwaka?’_ Once inside, he kicks the door closed behind him, strutting over to an empty seat and plopping down, a fake grin on his face.

“What can I help you with, Oikawa?” Ushijima asks with a tired sigh, already knowing where this conversation is going to go.

Oikawa barely contains a snicker as he laces his fingers together in his lap, “Oh, you know. I was just out this morning, visiting the sweetest, _cutest_ barista in town for a cup of coffee and a delicious scone, when he just so happened to tell me the most _charming_ story,” his grin turned predatory, “ _Apparently_ , a hulking, idiotic officer of mine wandered in this morning at some _ungodly_ hour, pointed a gun at his head, and demanded to know why he was stealing from his own bakery,” he chirps sweetly, poison dripping behind each word; Ushijima begins to sweat.

“Using my highly honed skills of deduction, I concluded that this officer must be no one other than my dear Ushiwaka,” he feigns innocence, pointing a long finger at himself and pouting, “’ _Oh, who me?_ ’ you may be asking,” he drops his act, face falling into seriousness, “The answer is yes, yes you. Because of your ridiculous drive for working past hours, you put yourself into a sluggish stupor and wandered into the café and acted recklessly, only to be rewarded with a nice chat and a free cup of coffee! Can you even _imagine_ how absolutely terrible that could have ended? Or if he decided to press charges against you? You’re lucky Hinata is so easy going, otherwise…” Oikawa scolds, bristling.

Ushijima waits for a moment to see if he was going to be berated any further by the man. Oikawa fidgets his leg restlessly in agitation, finger tapping against his bouncing leg, waiting for the man to say something. “Well?”

Ushijima, straightens up, fully ready to accept his fate, “I have no excuses.”

Oikawa groans, hands flying to his hair, “Ushjima, you’re going to give me gray hair early. This was exactly what I was talking about when I said you need to get out more—go home and actually _sleep_ like a normal human being!”

Ushijima perks up, “I had coffee with Hinata, instead of coming back and finishing the leftover work from yesterday.”

Oikawa deadpans, “Really, Ushijima? That’s not good enough! It needs to be more often. If something this ridiculous happens again, where you could potentially endanger a pedestrians life, I’ll have to put you on suspension,” his eyes soften at the worried crease that forms between Ushijima’s brow, “Look, just try your hardest at this. Redirect some of that effort into doing something else your passionate about…if you, y’know…have hobbies,” he ends awkwardly.

Wakatoshi nods, his mind reeling at the idea of being suspended from work, or having to adopt some kind of hobby. “You owe me a months worth of baked goods from Chibi-chan’s bakery as penance for your wrong-doings. Be happy that this is the punishment I decide to give,” he declares, sniffing indignantly and standing up, walking towards the door, flinging it open with grandeur, “I want them starting tomorrow!” he singsongs, shutting the door firmly behind him with a _click._

Ushijima turns to look back at the work in front of him, eyes looking but not comprehending what is being seen. His tired gaze wanders back to the coffee shop front, looking through the large glass windows at the bustling bodies inside, mind wandering back to the delectable scents of fresh coffee and warm bread.

He decides today would be a good day to head home from work early.

\--

Ushijima stands in front of the bakery’s front door, checking the flipped _‘We’re open!’_ sign for the fifth time before entering, not wanting another debacle like the day previous. Immediately upon entering, he’s greeted with comforting scents of caffeine and brown sugar, his prior nervousness easing out of his tense muscles slowly. A familiar head of sunny hair walks from the back room and immediately lights up when he spots the officer.

“Ushiwaka! Didn’t come to shoot me I hope?” he teases, walking up to the counter and leaning against it, a look of complete ease gracing his stance.

He quickly shakes his head, “No. Oikawa is making me buy him pastries from your shop in recompense for what happened yesterday.”

Hinata’s mouth falls into an understanding ‘o’ shape, a hum escaping past the open lips. “I didn’t mean to get you in trouble! I honestly thought it was kinda’ funny…thought he’d get a kick outta’ it,” he says sheepishly, a hand rubbing against the shaved hairs at the nape of his neck.

“It’s fine. I’d rather this than a suspension,” he says honestly.

“Right, right…” he trails off, honey eyes looking up into Ushijima’s own olive green, a light smile on his face. “I did hear through our mutual friend that you’re a bit of a workaholic.”

The man rolls his eyes, “I’m just dedicated.”

Hinata chuckles, “Nothing wrong with that.”

Ushijima blinks at the response, not fully expecting those words. He opens his mouth to ask what he meant by the statement but the words die on his tongue when the redhead ducks to pluck a cardboard pastry box from underneath the display case.

“Go ahead and take a seat. I know Oikawa pretty good by now to know what he likes. It’ll just take a second,” Hinata chirps, plucking wax paper singles from a box so he could start arranging the pastries for purchase.

Ushijima sighs, looking around for a free table to sit at for a moment. He chooses one that’s well lit by the front windows, squatting into his seat and crossing his legs as he waits. He takes a moment to actually look at the store, something he hadn’t gotten a chance to do the last time.

It’s a nice place—modern despite the old architecture—the room given a livelier, younger feel to it, with fresh olive green and cream paints on the stucco walls, while still keeping the rustic antiquities of original hardwood flooring and old brick. The darkly stained, framed windows he sat near offered copious amounts of natural, organic light, the illumination spreading in crisp, soft waves over the counters, tables, mismatched chairs, and display cases. Overhanging light fixtures over the register and coffee makers offered a soft orange glow, something he figured was useful as the sun diminishes in the evening times. There was few decorations—besides the hand written chalk boards displaying the menus—from the blown glass vases containing tufts of cornflower blue hydrangeas on each table, to hanging pots of twisting _Golden Pothos_ , to signed and delicately framed pieces of art for sale, or a collage of posters for upcoming poetry and music nights. It seemed like a labor of love, like an intimate extension of who Hinata was as a person, and Ushijima felt strange sitting here and observing—as if he was intruding on a sacred space without permission.

He’s shaken from his thoughts as a delicate, flour coated hand sets a box in front of him, as well as a mug of coffee and what looked to be a scone. He blinks and looks up to a grinning Hinata.

“Hey space cadet! I think I got your coffee right, and nothing goes better with a morning cup like warm dough!” he coos as he picks the seat across from Ushijima, folding his short legs criss-cross in his seat, his sticky fingers clutching his own warmed mug of bitter brew.

He looks at the offering and back at Hinata, “I…didn’t order this?”

Hinata sighs and rolls his eyes, “Duh, I know that. Humor me will you? Just drink and eat. It’s on the house.”

Ushijima reaches a hesitant hand towards the scone, picking up the delicate dessert and breaking off a corner piece. He marvels at the softness, and how _warm_ it still is, like it was just taken from the oven, just for him, the berries suspended in the dough still squishy and juicy from heating, their flesh bright and cheery and intensely fresh. He pops the piece in his mouth and sighs at the tangy sweetness, his body relaxing in his seat.

Hinata chuckles, teeth nibbling on his lower lip to keep a goofy grin from splitting across his face. “Good?” he asks, receiving a nod as an answer, the older man too invested in his breakfast to formulate a response.

Hinata waits patiently, his hands wrapped around his mug, taking small sips every now and again, watching his companion relax and eat. When Ushijima finishes, wiping the sticky residue from his mouth and fingers on a napkin, Hinata asks, “What were you thinking about, earlier?”

He purses his lips, unsure of how to answer. Instead, he remembers Hinata’s earlier remark, deciding to ask, “How is being a workaholic, or being dedicated, not a bad thing? Everyone at the office always… says differently.”

The ginger hums, ticking his fingers against the ceramic surface of his mug, “Well. I guess I just understand it. I built this place from the ground up—had to clean, do repairs, paint, put in new lights, furniture—everything. I mean, this is my life now, and I can’t see myself doing anything else, and I don’t…have anyone else waiting for me or anything like that, so I spend a lot of my time here,” he says, eyes softening as he looks around his shop, “So, despite what other’s say, I keep doing it. It’s rewarding, to see the fruits of your labor pay off,” he murmurs with finality, glancing back to Ushijima.

The man is taken aback at how the shorter man can formulate his exact feelings into words—something he’s never been very good at. “Right,” he murmurs back, gaze fixated on the smiling face of the baker. He rips his eyes away, feeling the creeping, unwelcomed heat crawl onto his cheeks.

“What would you do if your boss wants you to get a hobby?” he asks after a moment of silence.

Hinata furrows his brows in thought, humming through pursed lips. He smacks his lips with a _‘pop’_ , perking up. “Well, try and find one! Look into things you think are interesting, like…art, or music!”

He nods, mulling over the suggestions. Ushijima brings his wrist up to his face, checking the blinking, digital face for the time. He stands after seeing the time, though all he wants is to continue sitting with Hinata in companionable conversation. “I need to head to work now.”

Hinata smiles warmly, “That’s okay! I need to get started on some things as well!”

He grasps the box of pastries in his arms, raising a brow, “What do I owe you?”

The ginger waves a dismissive hand, “On me, as a sorry for getting you into trouble. You can pay next time.”

Ushijima bows lightly, straightening and slowly heading for the door, “Thank you, Hinata.”

The man grins, sending him off with a wink, “See you soon.”

Ushijima feels a similar grin twitch on his lips for a moment, and he finds himself looking forward to going to the shop again the next morning.

\--

He’s been picking up baked goods for Oikawa for over a month—not even realizing that he needn’t continue buying his boss pastries (though Oikawa wasn’t going to bring it up)—and he still hasn’t thought of something he’d permanently like to do outside of work. It’s beginning to become frustrating. Hinata has been a large help, the man usually consoling him or offering suggestions over the shared breakfasts they found themselves enjoying every morning.

It’s almost as if they had been checking off a list of potential activities, the pair working like clockwork. He would come in and sit down at his favorite table, a mug of coffee, that day’s breakfast, and a designated box of pastries already awaiting him on the tabletop. Hinata would grin and leave one of his employees in charge, hoping over the counter and bounding over to join him, asking how his ‘weekly’ hobby was turning out.

Ushijima had specified that he didn’t want to try anything sport related—he already frequents the gym, is excellent in shooting, and doesn’t find playing on local teams with sweaty old men his definition of ‘fun and relaxing’.

Hinata suggested he try something akin to art, like figure drawing or painting, which Ushijima quickly and almost devastatingly found he had zero talent in, his subjects turning out to be no better than stick drawings, his landscapes nothing more than unintelligible graphite scribbles. More paint ended up on himself than his canvases somehow and the pitying encouragements from his instructor of _‘It’ll just take practice’_ frayed his nerves. They dismissed art rather swiftly.

Though, they didn’t dismiss the arts as a whole—slowly making their way down possibilities. He tried knitting, though his pieces were just knotted lumps, and Hinata had giggled at him, teasing him about being an old man, saying he’ll take the mass of yarn and use it as a potholder, which Ushijima found slightly embarrassing and slightly comforting. He found he liked gardening and was rather good at it, but was impractical, as he lived in an apartment and was never home to tend to the plant’s needs, deciding to only keep a small container of succulents on his desk as decoration, the swells of waxy plant tissue happy to bask in the over abundance of sunlight his office received during the day.

This last week, he began to pick up music. He had learned guitar briefly in high school, taking up lessons with his dad who was happy to teach and reminisce on the days of his youth. As one of his graduation presents, his father gifted him his old acoustic; a beautiful mahogany piece with the rosette inlayed in mother of pearl, the material crafted masterfully in floral weavings, continuing up the fret board in small intricate vines and flowers, the blue purulent reflections shiny and breathtaking against the dark wood. It was his favorite gift, a reminder of shared and happy past times. He had forgotten about it, after some time, his life taking spins and turns in directions that left no time to continue, the hard-shell case happily protecting the instrument inside until it was ready to be plucked once more.

It was a slow process, and he enjoyed it, the stinging and growing roughness his fingertips gained by each small session signifying his progression. It seems like he found his hobby, and he was grateful, but he found himself unwilling to tell Hinata. He grew a certain fondness for the smaller man, the two spending copious amounts of time together each morning, the hours accumulating into a steadfast friendship. Ushijima looked forward to their daily morning ritual, his feet—no mater how tired—always carried his body to the café, like muscle memory, or a call towards home. It was slow at first, the wiggling sensation of warmth and adoration growing like the vines of the _Golden Pothos_ Hinata kept hanging in shop, the inklings growing into firm, unrelenting tendrils that solidified in his gut.

He grew to _like_ Hinata Shōyōu, and he didn’t want their meetings to end.

So when the plucky young man, sat across from him once more that week, a suggestion already tumbling past sweet, sticky lips, Ushijima mindlessly found himself nodding, not trusting his mouth, worried he would spill the small, minimal little secret he held.

Hinata squealed, hands grasping his own across the table, a flush of excited pink tinting his bespeckled cheeks, the tissue stretched taut in a smile over high cheekbones. “Thank you! I can’t believe you actually said yes! It’ll be a lot of fun, I promise!”

Wakatoshi jolts, blinking rapidly, “Wait, what?”

The smile refuses to fade, “Meet me here this weekend around 9 p.m., that’s when I close up shop, and I’ll show you everything you need to know about the basics of baking!”

Ushijima nods slowly, a lead-like weight slamming into the bit of his stomach, his palms clamming up under Hinata’s warm skin; he realizes that he just agreed to let Hinata show him how to bake—just them, together, alone, at night. He lets out a shuttering breath and tries his best to smile back, nervous flutters kicking around in his gut at the prospects of spending time with the auburnette outside of business hours.

He rolls with it—Ushijima Wakatoshi is going to learn how to bake.

\--

He’s nervous—more than he cares to admit—standing out front of Hinata’s café that weekend night. He’s dressed casually for once, which was harder to do, seeing as the detective only really owned suits and ties—heeding the bakers warning that things could get messy. He feels out of place just in a pair of loose fitting jeans, and an old varsity volleyball t-shirt he’s had since high school, a flannel rolled up to his elbows to deter the chill of night.

Wakatoshi’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and he grasps his cell in his hands, eagerly opening up the message thread.

_To: Hinata Shōyōu_

_From: Me (Ushijima Wakatoshi)_

_Time:_ 9:00 p.m.

_Subject:_ Outside

_Message:_ Here.

_> Reply from: Hinata Shōyõu_

_To: You (Ushijima Wakatoshi)_

_Time:_ 9:05 p.m.

_Subject: ᕕ(_ _ᐛ_ _)_ _ᕗ_

_Message:_ Coming!!

Ushijima smiles and stuffs the phone back into his pocket, looking through the front doors glass as the familiar shock of orange hair sprints to the entrance, fingers undoing the locks, flinging the door open in eager excitement.

“Hey!” he says, breathless, “I just finished setting everything up! Come on!” he ushers Ushijima inside, locking the door back into place, then leading the way to the back kitchens. He follows with a small smile, stopping in the doorway of the kitchens, observing his surroundings cautiously, feeling slightly out of his depth as he looks at all of the commercial equipment. It’s warm in the back, given that the ovens are set to preheat, the large sterling machines coming to life slowly, emitting their sweltering heat into the surrounding air. The room itself is incredibly organized and well-kept—sterile and tidy—containers and storage bins labeled and shelved alongside cooling racks, the surfaces shining and spotless of crumbs or sugar residue.

Hinata rolled his eyes and ushered him further inside, slipping off his beige, wool cardigan, hanging it up by the back door on the coat hooks. He was dressed simply as well—the longer fringe of his undercut slicked back by a thin, white headband, an oversized, ratty _Bad Religion_ t-shirt with the sleeves cut off practically hanging off his form, revealing shoulders covered in thick patches of freckles. A pair of well-fitted, ripped up black jeans cling to his legs, the extra fabric rolled at the ankles, and a pair of white, jogging Nikes tied to his feet to complete his evening outfit.

He plucks two aprons off the hooks, sliding one over his fluffy curls and handing the other to Ushijima. “That should fit you fine,” he says with a chuckle, deft fingers wrapping and tying the apron in the front with a little bow.

_‘Cute’_ he thinks to himself as he follows suit, a light blush creeping on tanned skin, taking a few shuffling steps towards the ginger. “What are we making?” he asks, looking at the counter that was lined with ingredients and baking materials.

Hinata gives him a crooked grin, wiggling his eyebrows, “We’re making cupcakes. They’re easy and simple.”

Wakatoshi looks back at the full counter, and raises a skeptical eyebrow at the shorter man. Shōyōu cackles, “It is, I promise! It’ll be worth it once you have a tasty treat in the end. Come on, hand me that large bowl and we’ll go through step by step.”

He obliges, watching the redhead work in his area of expertise, nodding along when the man explains certain aspects of baking—like which ingredients to mix and add first, how to make soft, flavorful confectionaries, and how to tell when things are baked through—finding the explanations to be simple and easy to follow like promised. Ushijima found that he actually liked baking, since everything was measurable and exact, and he was good at following Hinata’s instructions. He pours the chocolate mix carefully and evenly into the paper-lined pan, popping them in the convection oven to bake as the baker is humming and mixing up frosting in his electric mixer.

Ushijima grins and leans against the counter, arms crossed over his chest as watches the man work in his element, completely fixated on his tasks, flour covered fingers carefully adding in small amounts of softened butter to the powdery confectioners sugar, whipping the mixture up to create a fluffy buttercream frosting. He mixes in the last pinch of vanilla extract and turns to Ushijima, asking, “Do you want to make it a certain color?”

He purses his lips as he thinks, simply saying after a moment, “Purple.”

“Hmm. I want orange. I’ll divide it up, then we can half the cakes and frost them with our colors!” he chirps, reaching on his tiptoes to grab at another mixing bowl from the overhead shelving. Using a silicone spatula, he divides the sticky frosting evenly. He slides Ushijima his bowl, then skips over to a labeled drawer and pulls out edible food dye, handing the purple over, as well as a silicone spatula.

They work their respected bowls of frosting in companionable silence, watching as their own colors swirl and blend with the white of the frosting before turning into vibrant, tasty hues. The beeping alarm for the cakes resounds through the small baking space, causing Ushijima to jolt. Hinata snorts at his reaction, swiping a finger in his bowl, sucking the sugary delight from the digit, as he walks to the oven to retrieve the cakes.

They smell _heavenly_ , and Ushijima can’t help but reach a hand over to try and take one of the still cooling morsels. Hinata swats his hand away, a scowl on his face, “You’ll burn the shit out of your hands. They’ll cool in just a few minutes, be patient.”

Wakatoshi sighs in petulance, and waits, counting down the minutes with the digital clock hanging on the wall as the baker begins to clear up some of the excess dishes. In the mean time, he begins to wonder about Hinata and his origins for baking. “When did you decide to become a baker?” he asks, head tilted to the side.

Hinata bites the corner of his mouth to suppress a grin, “Uh, in college, actually.”

Ushijima blinks, “Oh. Like a culinary school?”

He shakes his head, “No, I actually went to school for nursing. I didn’t end up finishing, though.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to assume—“

He shakes a dismissive hand, “Nah, no worries. I barely got in, since I’m not that great at getting good grades and studying,” he says with a humorless laugh, “But, I started when I would get into study groups with classmates, as I was always left to supply snacks. I would bake something, my mother had shown me a few things when I was younger, and learning was easy enough through Youtube and baking websites. Soon, I was looking up more and more complicated recipes—mini fruit tarts with reduced honey glazes, or hand-piped, colorful French macaroons—and my grade average plummeted,” he snorts. He takes a moment to chew on his lower lip, hands stilling in their dish washing, “I wanted to change the world for the better, and I saw how I could do that with my passion for baking, and dropped out. So, now I’m here.”

Adoration bubbles under Ushijima’s skin, and he says firmly, “You definitely have.”

The auburnette beams—pure and unadulterated—his pearly teeth glinting in the fluorescent lighting. “Thank you, really.”

He nods his head, pleased with himself for making the younger man look so happy. He points a finger at the cakes, “Can I go ahead and frost these?”

Short auburn curls bounce atop his head as Hinata nods quickly, “Go ahead! You’ve earned a treat!”

He plucks a cupcake from the tin, the soft cake still a little warm. He looks around for something to frost with, eyebrows furrowed. “What do I use?” he asks.

“Oh! Well, there’s piping bags if you want to be fancy, or there’s just a butter knife,” he says, grabbing the two off the counter and holding them up for Ushijima’s choosing.

Without hesitation he grabs the butter knife, which makes Hinata giggle, “I knew it.”

He ignores the small jab at his basic baking skills and scoops up the purple fluff on the edge of his knife, slathering the surface of his cake with a lopsided grin. He sets it aside for later consumption, picking up the next and doing the same process over, while Shōyōu folds the piping bag down and loads in his frosting, then folds it up once more, tying the end with a band. He squeezes the end to push some of the frosting out before setting to work. They frost in companionable silence, focusing on making their cupcakes look edible and pretty, carefully swirling and decorating each top.

Hinata flashes him a mischievous grin, hands quickly darting out to pipe a swirled star of orange frosting atop one of Wakatoshi’s purple cakes. He frowns and sends Hinata an affronted look that causes him to go into a fit of cackles, his nose scrunching as he snorts; a small hand flying to cover his mouth. He furrows his brows and decides to retaliate, scooping a bit of purple on the end of his knife and slapping it in the middle of one of Hinata’s perfectly piped cupcakes.

The baker feigns a gasp of hurt, hand flying to his forehead in abashed surprise, “Oh, how will I ever recover from this travesty?”

Ushijima rolls his eyes, flinging more of the frosting onto another orange-topped cake. Hinata mock glares, “Oh, it’s on.”

An all out _war_ breaks out in the kitchen, respective frosting colors ending up on every frosted cake corner in flurries of colors, dabbles of the sticky cream finding their way on other surfaces, like their fingers, clothing and, in Ushijima’s case, his cheek, their laughter reverberating off the walls of the kitchen—loud and cheerful, a welcomed difference to the detectives otherwise stoic personality.

“Oh, oh! Sorry, here, before it gets in your eyes,” Hinata says, hands extended in surrender as he steps closer to Ushijima, reaching up on his tiptoes to swipe the pads of his fingers gently across the excess frosting that was caked on defined cheekbone.

He freezes as he simultaneously feels his body heat—whether its convection from the ovens or from Hinata’s proximity, he’s not sure—the cursed flush returning to his face, spreading like wild fire to across the bridge of his nose and to the tips of his ears. His eyes lock with Hinata’s own honey-sweet gaze, their sticky color captivating, and he feels like he’ll _drown_ in their depths, his breathing already shallow as he takes in the dilation of Hinata’s pupils, the darkness beginning to consume the lovely irises. He notices the slight gap that falls open between the plump, sticky looking lips; the initial leaning in closer of the freckled face.

_He wants me to kiss him. It’d be easy to._

He doesn’t—he feels like he _can’t_ , a panic rising thickly in his throat. He quickly back peddles, ripping himself away from the auburnette’s suffocating intensity, letting out a shuttery breath. He clears his throat, willing his body to return to normal, eyes glancing at the half-frosted batch of cakes. “We should…finish these.”

Hinata nods silently, looking disappointed and flustered, refusing to make eye contact with the taller man, picking up his piping bag and another cake, deft hands expertly applying the frosting without his attention through muscle memory, eyes foggy and unfocused as he thinks through the muddled thoughts that run through his mind.

The rest of the night continues uneventfully, a distance placed between the two as they finish their baking project. Hinata takes the multicolored cakes and places them in a cardboard pastry box, tying twine around the box to keep the top from flipping open. He hands the package over once Ushijima finished cleaning his hands and hanging up his apron.

He feels like he should say something as they walk to the front door, and he curses at himself internally at his inability of expressing himself with his words. Hinata gives him a small wave as he steps outside, the air seemingly colder after leaving the comforting heat of the shop.

“Thank you, for this. I’ll see you soon…?” he says slowly, looking back to the redhead.

Hinata gives him a fleeting smile, one that doesn’t reach his eyes—something he doesn’t like seeing on the usually sunny features of the man—which leaves him feeling strangely hollow. “For sure! See you soon,” he steps back into his safe haven with one final wave, the door closing between the two, severing their night together with the final ‘ _click’_ of the lock.

Ushijima turns and begins walking down the block, unable to shake the strange, sinking feeling that the opposite of the promised ‘ _see you soon’_ was actually going to happen instead.

\--

Ushijima hasn’t seen Hinata for a two weeks, but he sees flashes and reminders of him everywhere—in his bland cups of coffee, to the store-bought cupcakes brought in that were measly compared to the delectable, handmade confections that they had crafted together, to the succulent box he keeps on his desk—all small parts of his life that held Hinata’s influence, serving to prove how quickly the redhead became incorporated in his daily routine. He constantly gives surreptitious glances out of his windows to observe the outside of the café, where he knows a gifted, beautiful baker is hard at work, thoroughly unable to concentrate on anything else but his nagging want—his _desire_ —to talk and see the man that ensnared his thoughts so easily.

He had tried to come in that following Monday, giving them a day of space after the awkward tension, wanting to have breakfast and pick up from where they left off, like nothing had changed. Except things had, as his usual table was left empty of any signs of a shared, planned breakfast, and the one to greet him was a surly-looking, black-haired man, a creepy grin stretched over his lips in an attempted smile.

“Can I help you?” he had asked.

Ushijima’s olive eyes moved briefly to the empty table before he fully processed what the man asked. “Oh. No, is Hinata here, by chance?”

He shakes his head, “Just missed him. He’s out restocking the supplies this morning.”

He nods slowly, disappointed, “Right… Can you tell him I—that Ushijima—stopped by to see him?”

The raventte gives a mock salute before addressing the next customer behind him. Ushijima feels oddly let down as he walks out of the café, and even more so when he doesn’t receive a call or text from the baker. Every other time he tries, there’s another excuse for the man’s absence, and he eventually stops showing up at the café, only sending one or two messages to Hinata, receiving no answer.

The whole ordeal has left him in a rather dour mood, which quickly gained notice from Oikawa and Sawamura, the two currently perched in chairs in his office, their faces pinched as they try and process the overload of information the detective managed to spew at them on his situation.

Oikawa looks between Ushijima and the window, gaze directed at storefront, then bursting into a fit of laughter, doubling over in his chair and holding onto his gut, choking out “F-for such a smart detetctive, you’re such an _idiot!_ ”

Sawamura sighs, “Oikawa, that doesn’t help his situation.”

“ _Daichi,_ just admit it! You think he’s an idiot for missing his opportunity at dating the _cutest_ kid on the block! Which is saying something, given that _I’m_ here as well.”

Daichi gives a defeated sigh, shoulders sagging, “Okay, _yes_. But, that still doesn’t change the fact that he needs actual _help_ figuring this out. No need to add insult to injury.”

Tooru takes a deep breath, muttering, “Okay, okay. Yeah.” He grins at him, jabbing a thumb at his chest, “Lucky for you, I am a _romance god._ All you have to do is some kind of romantic gesture for him, and tell him how you feel. It’s simple, no need to complicate things.”

Daichi nods, surprised, “That’s actually the best route. Just be honest with him.”

Ushijima frowns, “I don’t have a romantic bone in my body. What am I going to do for him?”

The pair purse their lips. “Well,” Daichi begins, “he’s a baker, yeah? What would a baker like as a gift?”

Ushijima furrows his brow in thought, his eyes widening as an idea struck him, “I got it.”

The two perk up, “And?”

“Flowers,” he says in a rush, standing up and gathering his coat, keys and wallet. “I need to go.”

The two look at each other, not understanding, “Flowers…why would a baker want flowers? Wouldn’t he want, like, a new mixing bowl or something?”

Ushijima shakes his head, “No, you don’t get it. I’ll tell you later. Thank you for the help!” he calls, darting out the door. The pair shrug, interested in hearing how the man’s idea will play out in the end, each officer wishing him the best of luck.

\--

Ushijima pants as he runs up to the café door that night after closing, quickly raping his knuckles against the glass window of the door. He silently prays to the gods that Hinata is still in the shop. A moment that feels like eternity, the door unlocks, cracking open.

Wide ochre eyes stare in surprise at seeing the detective at his door, “Ushijima? What are you doing here?”

He takes a deep breath, steeling his nerves as he holds the box in his arms out in offering, “I…brought you flours…” he says slowly, carefully.

Hinata glances down at the box that was packed with individually labeled, unique flours in wonder, the realization of the offering setting in. He can’t help the cheesy smile that spreads across his face at the tangible pun the man brought him.

“Ah, very funny. But, uh…why?” he asks in confusion, fingers ghosting over the paper labels of each miniature bag.

“I fucked up, the other night,” he says simply.

The baker puckers his lips, smacking them in a loud _‘pop_ ’, “Yeah. You kind of…rejected me,” he murmurs with a dry chuckle, eyes averting to look at the street.

Ushijima feels his stomach knot uncomfortably, “I’m not good at this kind of thing. My boss and associate said that I was, I quote, “a complete idiot,” and that I should show you how I feel about you,” he pauses to jut the box out a bit, wiggling the contents, “So, I got you…flours,” he finishes weakly, swallowing around the uncomfortable nervousness that accumulated in the back of his throat.

Hinata ducks his head to hide a smile, “Thank you, then,” he tucks his hands in his pockets, rolling on the balls of his feet, “…Have you eaten dinner?”

Ushijima shakes his head. The grin spreads across the shorter man’s face, “Well, that looks heavy, and my apartment is only a couple of blocks away…If you carry them home, I’ll make you dinner.”

Ushijima huffs a relieved sigh, “Deal.”

Hinata cocks his head in the direction of his home after locking up, starting to walk along the well- walked path, “Come on then.”

The walk is quick, the two enjoying each other’s company, having missed the constant presence the last few, lonely weeks. The twilight sky twinkles overhead, the full moon accompanies the stars dancing on their expansive silky azure and rich plum backdrop, cascading the walking pair in a soft, delicate light. Ushijima spares a glance at Hinata, and he decides that he likes the man in the moonlight just as much as he adores him in the sunlight; the auburn curls and shaven sides of his hair, the tendrils reflecting the shining light elegantly and fully, the shadows casting over his small features, accenting every divot of bone, darkened sunkissed spots, and stretch of elastic, smile-lined skin. His skin looked lighter, illuminated naturally by nightfall, like he was glowing celestially as the embodiment of the sun in mortal flesh, glowing against the darkness of night.

_‘He’s beautiful…’_

He stops in his tracks right before he barrels into Shōyōu’s back, not even realizing they had arrived at their destination. He’s surprised to see it’s more of a townhome tucked away against commercial buildings—old and homey—and he knows it instantly fits the younger man perfectly. Hinata holds open the door for Ushijima to pass through, directing him to the kitchen and flipping on the lights so he could set the heavy box down. Ushijima shakes out his arms after doing so, curiously looking around the home. From what he could see, it’s decorated similarly to his coffee shop—warm and comforting—with a flare of personal touch. There’s dozens of framed family photographs hanging from cream-colored walls or tucked along bookshelves of Hinata at various ages, accompanied by cookbooks, scented candles and small potted plants. There’s a small scattering of clutter on his kitchen counters and floors, from printed recipes with notations scribbled in the margins, half mugs of cold coffee, and fluffy looking fleece blankets tucked in messy piles by his _kotatsu_ ; it’s messy and collaged, the mismatched pieces placed with love, which Ushijima finds incredibly endearing and _so like Hinata._

The auburn haired man chuckles nervously as he chucks his keys on the kitchen counter by the box, “Pardon the mess…I forgot it was kinda’ crazy in here.”

He smiles down at Hinata, “It’s fine. Do you want help with dinner?”

Hinata shrugs in return, “If you’d like. I was just going to make a stirfry—something quick and easy. So, I guess you could chop some vegetables.”

He nods, waiting as Hinata pulls out everything he needs to make dinner, handing him a chopping board and a chefs knife, while he heats a pan and slices pieces of beef to sauté. They work synergistically, quickly making dinner as Hinata chats with him—the man asking about what Ushijima was up to the last few weeks, thoroughly enjoying the detective’s company. As they plate their food and settle on the soft cushions tucked under the _kotatsu_ , they continue to share stories and laugh, noses scrunching and eyes crinkling, the only lapses of conversation happening while they chewed.

Hinata gathers their plates, murmuring a ‘ _be right back’,_ taking them into the kitchen and turning on the sink, clearing the dishes to reduce the clutter. Ushijima looks around the living room as he waits, and is immediately drawn to the acoustic that is hidden in the crevice of a bookshelf, immediately drawing him in with a sense of curiosity.

“You play?” he calls in question.

He hears a chuckle, “Not very well. It was gift from a friend. I feel bad, just letting it sit there.”

Wakatoshi stands from where he was seated, shuffling over to the guitar and picking it up, carrying it over and sitting once more. Fingers pluck at the strings, adjusting the knobs at the top of the fret to find the right tuning, then strumming in tandem. He smiles down at the strings, an old English song resurfacing to his mind he once learned from his dad a long time ago.

He strums the chords, the rhythm steady as he quietly sings, _“When I was a young boy, my mama said to me, ‘There's only one girl in the world for you, and she probably lives in Tahiti’/ I'd go the whole wide world, go the whole wide world just to find her.”_

Hinata pauses in his scrubbing when he hears the soft melody coming from his living room. He walks quietly out to where Ushijima is sitting, marveling at the way his voice sounds, and the way his fingers move automatically in remembrance of the songs rhythm. He walks over and squats down onto his knees next to the man, trying his best not to disturb him.

Ushijima sees the careful movements of the baker out of the corner of his eye, continuing on, singing and strumming a little louder, less timid: “ _Or maybe she's in the Bahamas, where the Caribbean Sea is blue/Weeping in the tropical moonlit night, because nobody's talking about you,”_ he pauses and looks up, immediately finding the next lines stuck in his throat as he meets the wide, captivated eyes of Hinata, the intense gaze fixated solely on Ushijima— _on his lips—_ his tongue poking out between parted lips to moisten the swells of succulent, plump tissue.

He feels his resolve begin to loosen, to fade, but Shōyōu is first to ask, lunging forward and sealing Ushijima’s lips with his own in a hot, passionate kiss.

( _I'd go the whole wide world, go the whole wide world just to find her…To find out where they hide her…)_

Wakatoshi quickly sets the guitar aside, hands grasping and pulling the smaller man closer, wanting to feel the warmed, lithe body under his hands—against himself—desiring to keep the man as close as possible, for as long as possible. It starts sweet, the furthered contact by Ushijima’s larger hands eliciting a sweet sound between the parted, sugary lips of the baker, and he _melts_ , his own gruffer sound sighing out his nose.

Hinata looses it at the noise, pressing harder—impossibly closer, practically crawling into the taller mans lap—tongue darting out to trace along the curve of Ushijima’s mouth. He obliges immediately, and the slick muscle happily tastes every inch that’s given to it. Ushijima pants; Hinata breathes life into him just as quickly as he leaves him breathless, and he pulls back to nip at the bottom, kiss reddened lip, another keening noise ripping out of his throat as he desperately grinds down in Ushijima’s lap for friction.

Ushijima hisses in pleasure from the movement, grip tightening on the jutted hipbones, pulling him back down to repeat the motion. The auburnette tilts his head back and gasps, exposing his neck, which he happily begins to suckle on. Hinata whines, his hands trailing up to twine the digits in Ushijima’s choppy cut and _tugging,_ voice whispering out a begging mantra of _“Please, please…”_

He nods, an electric jolt shooting through him and straight to his groin, his lips still sucking love bites against the pale column of throat, “Where?” he asks hotly against the skin, large hands trailing from his hips, down to his ass, giving a firm squeeze, then traveling down his thighs.

Hinata moans, rutting against Ushijima, pointing behind them to an open hallway. He nods again, standing up before promptly squatting down to hoist the redhead up, ignoring the surprised squeak and breathy laugh, gripping the back of Hinata’s thighs as they wrap completely around his waist. He walks quickly and with a purpose, walking into the bedroom, kicking the door shut with the back of his foot, then walking to the bed and depositing the man down on his back.

The ginger scoots back, grabbing lube and a condom out of his bedside table before lying flat on his back, allowing Ushijima the time to shuck off her shirt. He crawls over the prone laying man; those pliant hips open and allow the taller man to settle between them before wrapping around Wakatoshi’s waist and drawing him closer. Greedy, small hands trace every line of hard, trained muscle, fingers dipping to tease at the trail of dark hair that leads below his waist band, the pads of his fingers rubbing soothing circles against the sensitive skin before he digs his blunt nails in lightly and dragging up to his abdominals.

Ushijima’s hips stutter against the redheads own gyrating hips, pleasure throbbing in his cock, as a choked noise catches in his throat. One hand moves to push Hinata’s own shirt up, which the man quickly leans forward to aid in the article of clothing’s removal. He’s _gorgeous_ —his body lithe and soft, and borderline _feminine_ , the hips slender, leading up to delicate curves. His skin is decorated with freckles, the darkened melanin spots stark against the milky-ness of his flesh, two pert, dune-colored nipples hardened with arousal.

_‘Fuck…’_ he thinks, groaning at the sight, immediately ducking his head to pepper searing kisses down his face and throat, ending up at his chest, kissing the two buds before sucking one into his mouth. He lavishes the skin with attention, licking and biting the one before switching to the other, all the while ignoring Hinata’s pleasured, babbling cries and desperate wiggles.

He smirks against Hinata’s skin, enjoying his time teasing the man, moving to sit up, dragging the redhead’s hips with him, so he could unbutton Hinata’s jeans. He slowly drags the material of the jeans and boxers down, inch by inch, much to Hinata’s evident frustration, an aroused glare pinching up his face as he bites down on his lip to prevent himself from making desperate noises. The smirk only widens when the flushed, leaking cock springs out from under the clothing, making the ginger gasp, his eyes widening.

Ushijima pauses to unbutton his own jeans, dragging the material down past his hips, pulling his own throbbing dick free. He leans back down and kisses Hinata again, much softer than before, his feelings of overwhelming adoration and affection effervescent and forthcoming. Hinata blindly grasps at the lube bottle, popping it open and squirting the cool gel onto his fingers, warming it a bit before he grasps at Ushijima’s arousal, stroking firmly from the base to the tip.

A gravely moan echoes through the room, the noise choking off as dying syllables against his tongue as Hinata’s own slicked up cock ruts against his own. He glances at Hinata, who stares back, his honey gaze completely swallowed by the darkness of his pupils, lip sucked into his mouth as he breathes heavily through flared nostrils. A rosey colored blush is flushed across his face and to the tips of his ears, and down his chest, which makes Ushijima release a breathy huff of air.

_‘A full body blusher…God_ fucking _dammit, he’s amazing…’_ he thinks to himself as he thrusts against Hinata’s pumping. Hinata’s pale lashes flutter shut, head rolling back as he pants, whining out _‘Ushijima…more…’_

Immediately Ushijima grasps at Hinata’s hand, stilling its motion, raising himself up once more and untangling the tight hold of the ginger’s thighs so he could tug and fully remove Hinata’s clothing. The man shivers, back arching as he searches for friction. Ushijima ducks his head to place a soothing kiss to his lovers’ belly, reaching for the lube and slicking up his fingers.

He raises one leg up to his shoulder, the other to his waist as he leans back down and circles one wet finger against the tight ring of muscle of Hinata’s ass. Hinata whines a keening sound as his back arches off the bed, the digit pushing in slowly, giving a few long moments to adjust, before it begins to pump. When the muscle relaxes and stretches, he adds another, repeating the steady in and out motion, scissoring the fingers apart as the muscle gives way. When three fingers are fully pushed in to the knuckle, and curls them, digits digging in and pressing against the hot inner walls, searching for the one spot that will make Shōyōu _fall apart._

He finds it, the redhead practically jolting off the bed, his toes curling and muscle clenching, mouth dropped into a mute ‘o’ of silent ecstasy. Wakatoshi continues his assault on the mass of tissue, fingers setting a quicker, deeper thrust that has his lover squirming and babbling underneath him. When he feels Hinata begin to clench down around his fingers, he removes them, the ginger whining out a choked sob from the loss of touch. A gentle hand moves to rub at the man’s hips and abdomen in a sign of comfort as he picks up the condom, placing it between his teeth with one hand and ripping it open. He rolls the lubed material over his swollen cock head and down to his base, slicking it up with a copious amount of lube before he lines himself up with Hinata’s entrance and pushes in.

Shōyōu’s eyes widen, the orbs rolling back into his skull in pure, unabashed ecstasy as the girthy cock stretches him fully, straight to the hilt. The detective gives him a moment to adjust, waiting for a frantic bob of the head before pulling a few inches out and thrusting back in. Ushijima throws his head back and moans at the encapsulating tight heat, setting up a slow in and out pace that wracks his body with electric pleasure. Soon, Hinata is pushing his own hips up to meet the timed thrusts of Ushijima’s own hips, words of praise, encouragement and incoherent babbles spilling from his mouth.

“ _Fuck,”_ he curses, grasping at his lover’s other leg and setting it over his shoulder, pressing forward and doubling the smaller man back further, hips angled higher as the two strong arms cage by the disheveled head of auburn locks. He fucks into him with fervor, sweat-slicked hips slapping against the curved ass, the tip of his dick rubbing against the baker’s prostate. Stars burst behind Hinata’s eyes as he wantonly moans, “ _Fuck, fuck,_ yes. You’re so fucking _good_ — _feel so_ _fucking good,”_ a high pitched whimper, “ _Wakatoshi, Wakatoshi…I-I’m c-cumming…!”_

Wakatoshi gutturally moans when he hears his name being uttered in such a way—to hear it spoken so openly and with abandon by Hinata in his fit of pleasure. He fucks through the tightened heat of the orgasm, hips stuttering and sinking in deep soon after as he finds his own climax, a cant of Shōyōu’s own name escaping past his lips as his eyes flutter close.

The stay connected together as they catch their breath, the two breaking out into reciprocal grins, Hinata giggling underneath him, his smaller body shaking from his delighted laughter. Ushijima pecks Hinata quickly on the lips before pulling out, rolling off the bed to dispose of his condom in the en suite bathroom, grabbing a dampened cloth, moving back to gently clean his lover. He crawls back into bed with the redhead when he hears a murmured, sleepy _‘stay’,_ come from the blessed looking man, wrapping himself around Shōyōu. The ginger twines their fingers together, bringing them up to his mouth so he could kiss their joined knuckles, and then holds them to his chest, his eyes drifting shut in a comfortable, dreamy state of rest.

As Ushijima lay there, he silently muses over the progression—his metamorphosis—from being a workaholic, to someone who can no longer think of anything but the one he is growing to love. He believes he fully understands what Oikawa meant in his persistent mantra of ‘ _don’t let life pass you by_ ’, as thinking of his life with the removal of his own personal sunshine sounds unbearable and unpleasant—something he’s not sure he could ever return to doing easily.

He drifts into an easy sleep, warm and comforted, rising early as fresh morning sunlight filters through Hinata’s bedroom window. Ushijima looks at the still slumbering man, eyes soft with unhindered affection, reaching up a hand to trace feather-like patterns against the illuminated, bare shoulders and back of his lover, marveling at the skins softness and radiating loveliness as the man continues to dream easily. Shōyōu eventually stirs, rolling over and blinking still dewey, drowsy eyes at him, a lazy smile etched on soft lips as he murmurs, “ _Good morning, Wakatoshi.”_

Ushijima ducks his head and smiles, moving to press his lips in light kisses down the sides of his face and cheeks, nuzzling his nose against the dimpled smile that finds itself on Hinata’s cheeks, pressing another kiss there before being playfully batted away.

“You’re affectionate this morning,” he teases.

“Because I’m waking up next to you,” he says honestly, moving a hand to smooth the rumpled curls of Hinata’s undercut.

He snorts out a giggle, eyes falling shut once more as he falls into Ushijima’s touches, “What a _cheeseball.”_

Wakatoshi just hums, continuing his explorative caresses, soothing the baker back into a dream-like state of nirvana. They rise late, neither caring that they have to rush to work, knowing that they’re intertwined in the most beautiful of ways, and that they will inevitably fall back together as the day ends, finding a home together in their symbiotic love. Yes, he knows Oikawa was right in his advice.

_Ushijima Wakatoshi lives his life, irrevocably and beautifully alongside Hinata Shōyōu._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for taking the time to comment, leave kudos, and read!!
> 
> The second song mentioned within the fic is 'Whole Wide World' by Reckless Eric. 
> 
> Lots of love!!! xoxox
> 
> You can come chat with me at:
> 
> @tangy-tangible-tangelos (main) or my Haikyuu!! blog @asahisglassheart


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